30. Chapter Thirty #2
Elowen yells excitedly behind me as we round the bend of the lake.
I feel her heart rate pick up again, but her mind is shrouded in pure bliss.
I helped her have fun. That’s all this is.
Just…fun. The thought nauseates me. The idea that this blip of my life could ever be looked back on as just a little fun. I want more.
“We aren’t heading back soon right?” She questions loud enough for me to hear it.
“You just tell me when to head back, baby.” Oh, fuck.
”What did you say? I’m sorry. I can barely hear through this thing.”
”Just tell me when!” I yell and she throws a thumbs up in front of my helmet. That ceases our yelling conversation.
I spend the rest of the ride worrying about when this is going to inevitably have to end.
Elowen lets me know about 20 minutes after our conversation that she’s getting kind of cold.
I oblige and find a road to turn around in.
We ride by the lake and I catch her in the rear view with her head tilted.
Elowen is staring out at the lake. The moon is perfectly full and she seems mesmerized.
As much as I need her safe, I wish I could at least see the reflection of the moonlit water dance in her eyes.
By the time we turn back into Crimson & Quill, I can sense her mind being overrun with thoughts. I park and kill the engine, leaving her time to dismount. She doesn’t speak. She removes the helmet and waits for me. I place the keys in my pocket and sit the helmets on the bike.
“It’s late. I should probably…”
“Yeah, you’re right. You still have to work tomorrow.
” An awkward silence fills the gap between us.
She nods and turns towards her car. I go to spin her around, but we turn to each other at the same time.
“Hey! Thanks. Thanks for driving out here just to go for a ride. It was nice. I’m not used to having a passenger.
It was fun for me too.” I stop her with my admission and the vulnerability strikes me in the chest.
“Thanks for inviting me.” What do I say to make her stay?
You’re the prettiest individual to ever grace this planet.
I could spend hours lost in your eyes. Your thirst for knowledge has made your mind the most fascinating place.
You’re just breathtaking. Except, I still don’t have the guts to say any of that.
Elowen steps towards me and grabs my hands.
“We should… We should do this again before it gets too cold out.” I look down at her hands and rub the tops of them with my thumbs.
“Yeah. We should.” Our eyes don’t disengage from one another. I can hear her heartbeat speed up. “Be safe driving home, Elowen.” She throws me a half smile. “What is he trying to get out of this?” I’m not trying to get anything. I just wanted to see you. I wanted to see you the right way.
“I will. I’ll be back in your messages tomorrow, I’m sure.” I drop my head before looking up at her again to wave goodbye.
Just let her go, Beau. Plenty of time to fuck it up again tomorrow.
I tell myself I’m only going upstairs to rest. To put distance between myself and the speakeasy, Kai’s knowing glances, and the phantom sound of Elowen’s laugh still echoing in my ears.
But the truth is heavier. I want more. I can’t get those images out of my head.
That spontaneous bike ride made matters much worse.
The door to my room shuts behind me with a soft click.
It’s quiet in here, the kind of quiet I have worked to cultivate for decades.
Although, the feeling of eyes on me persists.
I close the curtains across the sliding door on the balcony.
Books are stacked neatly on the shelves, the desk is tidy, and everything sits in its proper place. Control comforts me.
Yet tonight none of it’s enough. All I see is Elowen. All I feel is the imprint she leaves behind. Nothing about this is normal. I’m sick to my stomach. Her existence is affecting me more by the second.
I am a vampire that is sick to my stomach. Make that make sense.
No one gives you a handbook on how to be a vampire.
Matteo fucked me over by not warning me more about possibly falling in love one day.
I am all too aware of how rough it was to watch Itanya pass, but she never wanted this life.
Was that the reason for his hesitancy? I sink into the chair at my desk and open the laptop.
The screen’s glow is far too bright in the dark, harsh enough that I almost shut it again.
My fingers hesitate over the keyboard. It’s ridiculous.
I have lived through wars, wide-spread disease, and far too many capitalistic pig presidents. Yet a blinking cursor gives me pause.
I type her name slowly and hit enter. Elowen Briar.
This is more than the few searches I performed earlier.
This is much more invasive. I just needed a few key details before returning to her home again.
Now, the results flood my laptop screen all at once.
Photographs, articles, random links. Too much.
I sift through them with quick glances. Most are irrelevant.
Common names, faces that aren’t hers, data that means nothing.
I refine the search with her address, the one I already have, and the results sharpen.
A directory. A property listing. Mentions of her in community newsletters from a garden, a library fundraiser, a volunteer event.
She’s so selfless, which I already could tell. Pieces. Mostly unnecessary pieces. Then, I reach her tagged social media.
I groan under my breath. Of course. Everyone lives their lives in curated squares now.
I have none for the bookshop beyond the required listings, open/closed hours, and newsletters.
Privacy has always been a fortress for me.
If anyone searched too closely, they might notice the face of the bookstore never changes.
But her. I fumble through the interface, clicking the wrong things twice and ending up on advertisements I never asked for. My jaw tightens. If Kai were here, he’d be crying from laughter. I refuse to need his help. At last, I find her personal profile.
Her picture is small, blurred at the edges, but it’s 100 percent her.
Her different colored eyes are bright. Her smile is unguarded.
All of these are the kind of images that make strangers believe they already know her.
My pulse stutters. Ridiculous. It’s only a photograph, Beau.
She doesn’t let just anyone in. God, territorial much?
I scroll carefully, terrified of making my presence known. Posts, quotes, photographs. Fragments of a life she has chosen to share. A life that feels so much richer in person since she’s so much more than these curated glimpses.
Then, I see it. A photograph of older hands laced with hers, the skin soft and thin, nails painted a pale pink. The caption below it freezes me.“Goodbye, Grandma. You were all I had left. I hope I made you proud while I could.”
The words burn straight through me. I read them twice, slower the second time, as if repetition might change the meaning. But there it is in plain text. All. She. Had. Left. She has no family, no safety net. She’s alone. We have something in common. It pulls at my chest.
The unbreakable bond with Imani makes sudden sense.
The knowledge hits something deep and dark inside me.
I should close the page, but I can’t. I stare until the room feels too small, until my chest aches with a pressure I don’t want to name.
The deed moving over so quietly and quickly.
It all makes sense now. A final click into place.
I shut down the laptop at last. The click of the power button cuts the silence in half. My reflection stares back from the black screen, my eyes colder than I want to admit.
But the caption echoes in my head. You were all I had left.
My girl moves through the world alone and doesn’t even understand how dangerous that could be.
Strong as she is, it guts me that her only true support system is her childhood best friend.
I power up the laptop again despite myself.
My fingers move before thought intervenes, typing her name with the city attached.
The new search results pull up something unexpected. Professional listings.
A clinic thirty minutes from here. Her name sits plainly on the staff directory, followed by letters marking degrees and specialties.
I click through the site. She works with patients in crisis: depression, anxiety, complex trauma, and a special certification for dealing with abused adolescents.
My chest twists with something sharp and helpless.
She gives safety for a living. She coaxes truth from broken people.
She holds pain and softens it. Elowen is a hero to so many.
I scroll lower. Reviews line the page, all five stars. The same words repeating over and over: compassionate, patient, life changing, saved me, kind eyes, listens like no one else ever has.
I brace a hand on the desk until the wood creaks.
She is a quiet kind of light, the kind that doesn’t blind or demand attention, but still finds its way into the darkest rooms and teaches the shadows how to soften around others.
A lifeline. And here I sit, hunting her down in the dark like something starving and depraved.
The irony tears at me. I’m going to end up ruining her life.
Ruining who she is. Who the fuck do I think I am?
I close the browser but leave the computer open. The knowledge pulses in my mind like something alive. If we are connected. If this bond is real. If she’s my sino. If she truly is, she’s far too good for me to ruin.
But I can’t just stop wanting her. My every thought is her. Dusk to dawn. Like clockwork.